


Loving him is easy

by nonahnever



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Background Mituna Captor, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, all three are relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonahnever/pseuds/nonahnever
Summary: Because hating him is too hard.Kurloz has a very strange relationship with his younger brother Gamzee.





	1. Get it Started

The first time that it happened, you didn't come. You remember this distinctly because even as it was happening for some ungodly reason you still wanted to. You hadn't wanted anything like that in a time that you could remember. 

 

It was past three in the morning and you were lightly dozing with a half finished book at your side. Being only slightly propped up in bed it was easy for your eyelids to start slipping and even easier to enjoy the silence of the house. Your father was gone (who knew or honestly cared where at this point) and your grandfather was off on another long trip to the far reaches of the ocean for whatever reasons he had for going there. You'd long since given up on asking. The man was stubborn as a goat and never gave beyond a cryptic answer of 'what do you imagine you could see at the bottom of the ocean'. Gamzee had been more enthralled by the mystery when he was younger.

Fourteen. You were only seventeen at the time. He was three years younger than you that night past three in the morning when he came into your room. He was walking softly and stealthily, as though expecting you to be asleep and it struck you at the time as odd because he never walks so quietly anymore. He stomps around the house just like your father does. So you focused your breathing to be slow and easy to seem as asleep as he thought you were. The bed shifted behind you as he climbed onto it and then there was a soft and warm weight draped across your hips. Your heart stalled and his arm lingered there for another moment or two before it dove into your pants.  
  
The sharp intake of breath you gave was involuntary and definite but Gamzee continued on as though he hadn't heard it. Or if he had, didn't care. His hand grasped for your length still confined your boxers and squeezed. This you were a little more ready for and you didn't gasp again. It suddenly seemed very important that you focused on your breathing above all else. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Slow and relaxed. Gamzee shifted behind you and you felt his fist at your tailbone, pulling away and then slamming against it again. The repeated action was already starting to hurt but let you know what he was doing back there: he was jacking himself off. Your mind went blank as it struggled for another explanation, another reason. But the hand that wasn't working himself was now squeezing at your length again and not exactly in the gentlest of ways. Your body felt too cold and your cock felt far too warm with Gamzee's fist wrapped around it.   
  
He was mumbling to himself with words you couldn't catch and felt pretty sure that you didn't want to and then the worst thing of the night thus far; he started to rock his hips. It was more a violent thrust, a dominating grinding. The bed creaked under the both of you with each motion he gave and it seemed to be so loud to you. Could the neighbors somehow hear it? What if your father came home? How would you explain it?   
  
 _You're fucked._ You told yourself and you truly believed it. Gamzee was more your responsibility than your fathers or grandfathers. His first word had been your name. You'd walked him to school. Bought his uniforms. Helped with homework and tests and science experiments and-  
  
Something very warm and wet hit the small of your back, soaking right through your shirt. Gamzee was breathing heavily at the back of your neck and it felt oddly wet there too. He pulled his hand back and you heard the jingle of his belt and then his zipper. Some kind of rummaging at your nightstand table and the bed creaked again as he got up. Then the door and he was gone.  
  
You were still laying in the same position he'd left you in as you opened your eyes and stared ahead at the wall. He hadn't even said anything to you. He just left. Somehow, that made you feel worse than you already felt. You should apologize. For what? You didn't know. But you knew that you had to.   
  
You sat up slowly in bed and ignored your half hard cock still mostly tucked away in your boxers and didn't bother to button back up your pants as you looked to the nightstand table. Your pack of cigarettes was left open and your lighter, your last working one, was gone. Shakily you moved to the edge of the bed, the back of your shirt still sticking to you in a way that made you want to burn it right off of your skin and reached under. A small metal tin was waiting for you. You fished through and found a box of matches, grabbed for a cigarette, and lit.   
  
The clock was ticking.  
  
Gamzee was snoring.  
  
You felt sick.


	2. Balance it out

You haven't been eating as much.

Not that you ate a lot anyhow. Eating wasn't ever exactly high up on your list of priorities. Not when Gamzee's taken such a keen liking to breathing down your neck almost at all hours. He'll come stomping his way into the room and demand your attention and no matter what you were doing, you had to give it. If you were turned away from him you'd about-face with the rigidity of a marionette with its strings pulled taut and give him whatever he wanted in the moment. It was easy. Easier than when he dove for your pants.  
  
You have a distinct set of bruises around the base of your cock. They exactly shadowed the pads of Gamzee's fingers. This was the third time you'd had something similar before. Or was it the fourth? You clucked your tongue and slammed the knife down onto the meat on the cutting board before you a little harder than necessary. Making dinner was more of a chore than you remember it being when Gamzee was younger. _How long ago had that been..?  
_

No distinct year comes to mind. You've been doing this a lot more lately. Forgetting things. You used to have a crystal clear memory. Sharp and strong. Now it felt muddled. You were just tired. You took an extra shift at work. You were busy studying.   
  
When had you last used one of those excuses? Fuck. You can't remember.

Time for the vegetables.  
  
You dump the cut meat into the skillet sizzling in preparation on the stove and give the cutting board a good wash before grabbing for a random handful of vegetables in the bowl on the counter and begin dicing them, rhythmically bringing the blade up and down in time. These activities are easy to lose yourself in and you don't really know why you're bothering: Gamzee will pick out the vegetables like he always has and they'll simply go to waste.  
  
You falter in your chopping rhythm. When Gamzee bores of you, will you go to waste as well?  
  
No. There's no way Gamzee would bore of you. You're important to him, somehow. Even if it's in a way that makes you feel sick down to the pit of your stomach, it's all you've ever wanted. You wanted him to want you. To need you. The circumstances of that were open to interpretation. And if this is how he wanted you...  
  
It had to mean something, right?  
  
_Right?_  
  
  
The knife slams down harder than you meant it to and the stalk of celery slips from your grip and the blade nicks the edge of your knuckle instead. You bring the finger up to your lips to suck the blood away. Gamzee's in the living room, laughing obnoxiously to an equally obnoxious television show on Adult Swim. You hate the shows he likes. You hate when he traps you on the couch with his ungodly suffocating personality and talks over the program and never lets up enough to give you so much as a word in edgewise. You had nothing to say anyway so it's not the end of the world if you don't talk. But sometimes you'd like the option. Even if it's only a fantasy of a choice.  
  
"'Ey! Loz!"  
  
Right on cue, Gamzee's summoning you just as you finish with the vegetables and had thrown them into the skillet. You take a moment to compose yourself and turn away from the stove to make your way through the kitchen and into the living room. Your expression is an old and practiced one; one of quiet but polite attentivity. He doesn't bother to look up from the screen still blaring away and shoves an empty cup at your stomach. You catch it with reflexes long since honed and hold it to your chest. He drops his hand back down and you scurry from him as though that was an act of dismissal. It could be as far as you were concerned.  
  
You reach the fridge and a sudden thought freezes you. _Had you even gone food shopping this week?_  
  
Your stomach sinks right into your ass when you open the door of the refrigerator and see nothing. None of Gamzee's sodas at all. You were absolutely impossible. You'd been buying him the same soft drink since he'd had his first tooth and you forgot about it entirely. The hand gripping the handle of the door is shaking and the knuckles are white. You stare at the empty shelves as though you could will the desired elixers into existence. Moments pass. You're scarcely breathing.  
  
"While I'm motherfucking to being on a youth, Loz!"   
  
His tone is not joking. You slowly shut the door and set the empty cup on the counter, resolving to wash it later only to second guess yourself. You rinsed it out and filled it almost but not exactly to the brim with milk and brought it out to him, setting it on the coaster on the coffee table. It was the one he never used. Father never used them either. Only you used the coasters.   
  
"'Bout on a motherfucking time."  
  
You watched with your pulse thudding in your ears as he picked up the cup without looking and took a long swig. The reaction was nearly instantaneous as his eyes bugged out, his cheeks swelled and his head snapped in your direction. You shut your eyes as you braced for what was coming. With a disgusting wet noise he expelled the offending liquid right into your face. It was already dripping from your chin to your neck and staining your shirt. Your bangs were wet. A shiver ran through you and you opened your eyes again to see Gamzee standing about an inch from your face.  
  
"The fuck is this shit!"  
  
"Milk." You heard your own voice answer and you nearly cringed.   
  
"Yeah no fuckin' onto duh, Loz! The fuck is it doin' in my cup?"  
  
"It's all we had." The pleading note to your tone makes you feel as nauseous and disgusted as Gamzee looks with you. He grasped at the cup and shoved it hard into your stomach again and what drink remained went splashing over your shirt and down your pants. You felt even colder than before. Gamzee's still yelling as you practically run from the room back to the kitchen for a rag to clean your shirt off the best you can with trembling fingers and scramble for your wallet. His voice follows you in your ears when you run from the house completely toward the little corner shop a few blocks over. You buy the first case of soda you could find and rush back home.  
  
As soon as you enter the house you smell burning vegetables and charred meat. Gamzee is helping himself to the last few microwave chimichangas and says nothing when you drop the case by his feet and run to the kitchen. Almost the entire expanse of it is filled with smoke. In your haste to turn off the stove you knock the skillet to the floor, burning one side of your hand and sending the ruined meal flying. Gamzee ignores the clatter.  
  
Your knees are shaking and you move to the kitchen table to sink into an open chair before you fall down. He turns the television up louder. You take slow, deep breaths.  
  
 _Useless. Useless. Motherfucking useless._


	3. Rinse and Repeat

Gamzee was drunk. Or was he stoned? It could very well be a margin of both.   
  
You were settled on the couch with a throw blanket draped over your unnaturally skinny legs to keep you from having to see too much of them in only your boxers and was watching some nature documentary. It wasn't terribly interesting and you didn't care much for nature-centric themes in general but the narrator's always had soft voices and quiet tones and they helped relax you. Thinking back on it, you had the house to yourself and you can't quite remember why. But the world was quiet enough for you to exhale a tense breath and you burrowed back a bit into the couch cushions to get more comfortable. You had just let the shaking in the core of your bones relax when the front door burst open as abruptly as though a cannon had been shot right through it.  
  
Your first thought was a raid. Gamzee might have been too young at the time to remember, but you could recall them. It was back when your father had just moved to the city with you and instead of trying to be some kind of father to his sons he took off to make a 'name' for himself within the streets. He'd rotted in jail for a period of time before your grandfather finally paid off his dues and he was released. But as far as you knew, your father no longer kept the products he pushed in the house. There were abandoned sheds and decrepit houses for that. The next thought you had was that someone was breaking in. You were on your feet in a second, your legs tangled up in the blanket and heart pounding in your throat.    
  
But then Gamzee had walked through the door (stumbling through it was more accurate, he looked barely on his feet) and when he spotted you clad in only a loose fitting tanktop and your boxers he grinned. He grinned in a way that made your stomach turn to ice and you felt more vulnerable now than the time you had went skinny dipping with Mituna on a dare. You had only climbed out of the water when you were absolutely sure his back was turned and that he wouldn't look at you. Not that it had mattered much since he had seen you undress to begin with. But it had felt different. This was different.  
  
_I'm so motherfucking scared of him._  
  
That thought rang through your head and only added to the sick feeling spreading through your body like an electric current and you felt a deep guilt combating it. To be scared of anyone was shameful. To be afraid of your own baby brother was even worse. Father would strangle the life out of you and piss on your grave every day for the rest of his life for being so pathetic. Gamzee might too. He was quickly growing a reputation brawling in the streets that could only make your father grin with pride. You figured that so long as Gamzee's attention was elsewhere then you could look the other way too.  
  
He was still staring at you. You ducked your head to try and ignore the gaze pinning you in place and bent down to grab for the blanket to disentangle it from your legs. You kept your eyes down as you took your place back on the couch and wrapped the blanket around you in a makeshift cocoon. You only raised your gaze again once you were situated and stared intently at the nature program still running as though you were deeply engrossed in it. Everything about you screamed _'Leave me alone, leave me alone'_ but it wasn't in Gamzee's nature to care much about social cues. You knew it. He knew it. Why were you still bothering?  
  
He kicked off his shoes, muddy and held together more with duct tape than fabric, and strode as easily over to the couch as though he were king of it. Flopped heavily beside you. The couch groaned in protest. Grabbed for the blanket. From the inside you half-heartedly grabbed a fistful of it to keep him from pulling. He jerked hard and your weak grip slipped. The blanket was pulled over his shoulders as well. Heat beside you. You shut your eyes.  
  
"Shits boring, my own brother. Can't you to be peepin' at an exciting fuck of something?"  
  
"It's educational." Your eyes were still shut but you could feel Gamzee's eyes locked onto your neck. You tried to pull the blanket up a little higher without him noticing and he jerked it back down around your hips instead.  
  
"I'm bored." He repeated as though you missed the memo. Your brother was always bored. Always looking for something to mess with or someone to ruin or a face to punch. He went from target to target to target with an eerie precision in tactics and a terrifying thrill of enjoyment that you did not like to think about. You didn't want to just be one of his targets. You had to mean more. You had to matter more.  
  
"Gamz, please," Your tone is tired and on the edge of desperation as you finally turn to look at him. His expression is cold and calculating and you feel like you just swallowed a gallon of ice. "I just want to watch this."  
  
"I said I'm _bored_ , Kurloz." He hardly ever used your full name like that. Only when he was disappointed in you.  
  
You had heard him, you wanted to scream. You were constantly listening to everything he had to say whether or not he said it to you directly. You just wanted a moment of peace. Just as you opened your mouth to ask what he wanted so he could leave you alone, you felt a very familiar and bruising grip around your length. The fabric of your boxers burned against it and you nearly shrieked in your panic as one hand shot down to grab at his wrist. But it stopped there. You didn't even try to pull his hand away. You had already accepted that there was no chance of this. Gamzee may be a bit shorter than you but he was built for strength and endurance. You were just a scrawny, tall, bag of bones. What could you have honestly done? He could break your nose with one punch and think nothing of it. You couldn't even find it in yourself to raise your voice at him.   
  
"Gamz not here, please," You gasped the words out, looking to the side toward the hallway as though expecting your father to suddenly appear or for your grandfather to abruptly arrive home weeks in advance from his trip. He acted as though he hadn't even heard you and shoved his hand under the elastic band of your boxers and gripped your length even tighter. Now it was really starting to hurt. Your spine curled inwards on impulse as though you could escape him by burrowing backwards into the couch. He was still staring at you. His hand was moving. Your nails dug into his wrist.  
  
"Gamz..!" You tried again to get his attention. Your body was twisting this way and that trying desperately to abscond from the situation. From your life. From existence entirely. He responded by tightening the fist around you and you gave a noise that was more a painful sob than anything close to pleasure. You were trying hopelessly to tell him to stop, to let you go, to leave you alone. But the most you got out were these 'St-st-st' noises. He must know what you meant. The grin on his face said so. A searingly hot wetness was collecting in the corner of your eyes. You were close to snapping, close to screaming when his free hand slammed down over your jaw, covering your mouth. You froze as he pushed you back into the pillows and propped himself up on his knees. You could see the fear in your eyes reflected back in his own and knew he felt nothing. He'd finally let go of your length. It flopped back against your hip, half hard and bruised. Your knees were shaking. You could barely breathe.  
  
"Suck my motherfuckin' cock, brother."  
  
Everything froze. You stared at him, unblinking. To say such a thing was unthinkable. To demand it was even more so. But the worst was how callously, how brazenly, he demanded it. You'd never felt lower in your life.  You shook your head and his smile faded in the fraction of a second and that was the most warning you got. The hand covering your mouth jerked back in a beautiful arch and the next thing you knew something was coming at you. There was a snap of bone and something warm running down your nose as you slammed back against the arm of the couch. His hand was in your hair the next moment and he was screaming something in your face. You felt dazed.  
  
"-I'll fuckin' ask for you's bullshit opinion!" You hadn't caught all of what he'd yelled at first. But even in your dazed state you didn't need to think hard to figure it out. "Now the fuck you get to kneeling and you suck on my fuckin' cock!"  
  
The hand in your hair tugged hard and you half fell, half scrambled off of the couch to your knees. Gamzee had released you long enough to get his belt undone. Blood was dripping from your nose onto your fists on your knees. You had been right. One swing was all it took. You didn't bother to wipe the blood away. That was the punishment for telling him no. You could never tell Gamzee no. That was a rule, a simple one that you'd known since he was born.   
  
He raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose hard and that time you did yell out in protest and pain, freezing in place. You couldn't pull away for fear of possibly making the break worse and you couldn't shove him away or he definitely would make it worse. In the middle of your yelp something hard and warm was shoved in your mouth. Hair tickled your bleeding nose. You screamed.  
  
Gamzee ignored this and held the bridge of your nose tighter, forcing more of the blood out. It was smearing over your lips, his hips, his knuckles, your face. You could taste it in your mouth coupled with something else you couldn't place. Close to salt but not quite. Your brothers length was hitting the back of your throat and you gagged. He abruptly pulled back to punch you in the face again, yelling something about getting your act together. More blood.   
  
_"Gamz, Gamz baby, please don't-"_  
  
Your plead was cut off by him thrusting back into your mouth and almost immediately you gagged again. With your nose stuffed with blood and Gamzee making damn sure that every breath he gave you was a labored one, you knew it was only a matter of time. You would pass out. Or you would die.

Which one sounded better?  
  
His thrusts abruptly picked up in speed and it took all of your self control not to let your heaving stomach purge. He let go of the bridge of your nose to grip at fistfuls of hair at the back of your neck to jerk your head forward as he thrusted. You let yourself go lax. He was simply doing whatever he wanted at this point. You were just something warm and wet to be used.   
  
_After everything, you owed it to him._  
  
A car door. Steps coming up the driveway.   
  
Panic. You panicked, trying to look toward the door even with Gamzee still thoroughly face-fucking you into unconsciousness. You could hear your fathers heavy footsteps at the door. You wanted to cry. You wanted to puke. You never want to be seen like this.  
  
Darkness. At first you thought you'd gone blind but no, it was fabric. You stared at the pattern and tried to remember. It was the blanket you'd been using. Gamzee draped it over your head and up to his chest to thoroughly hide you from sight just as the door opened.  
  
You fathers footsteps stopped almost immediately after coming in and there was a brief silence. Gamzee was still humping your face for all it was worth. You were doing everything in your power to not scream, not move, not give anything away that could indicate who was under the blanket.  
  
"Got yourself a bitch, huh." Your father didn't sound angry. He sounded mildly impressed and vaguely exasperated.  
  
You heard Gamzee laugh above you. "Fuckin' wicked one. Sucks like a fuckin' Hoover."  
  
Father laughed. You could feel the hot stinging tears in your eyes again. "Clean up when he's done."   
  
That was to you. The words had been directed to you. In spite of your fear you gave a quiet sob and Gamzee shoved your head down harder as punishment. Footsteps receding. A door slamming. The very next moment you felt something disgustingly warm and thick in your mouth. You jerked yourself back and Gamzee grappled to grab you, slamming a hand down over your mouth as you flung the blanket off in your scramble.  
  
"You heard Dad." There was something dark in his eyes, something you hadn't recognized. "Told you to clean up. Fuckin' swallow it."  
  
You knew you couldn't handle another punch. You swallowed down what you could and fought the urge to vomit immediately after. He gripped the bridge of your nose again, forcing your mouth open with a grip on your chin to inspect you. Once he was satisfied you had done as he'd ordered he tucked his cock away, zipped up his pants, and shoved you to the side so he could get to his feet.   
  
"Enjoy you's boring nature shit."  
  
You climbed back onto the couch and left the blanket on the floor, watching him go. You never wanted to see that blanket again so long as you lived. You never wanted to taste salt again. You never wanted to look your father in the face.  
  
You picked up the remote and shut the television off.  
  
_You never wanted to see another nature documentary again in your life._


	4. Don't Think About It, You Won't Talk About It

This was the third time today that Mituna had tried to video call you.  
  
The first time you hadn't answered because you were busy at the time with your new morning ritual of choking on your baby brothers cock until your head would spin. The second time was a few hours later and you didn't answer then either. You still felt too nauseous from your daily task. Gamzee would invite himself into your bedroom just the same as he did that first night at three in the morning and he would sit on your chest and start humping you back into the pillow whether you were conscious for it or not. Then you would spend the rest of the morning brushing and re-brushing your teeth until your gums bled. They never felt any cleaner.

When was the last time you'd talked to Mituna? It had to be close to at least two weeks by now which was your longest running record. Undoubtedly he was angry with you.  
  
Would you have blamed him if he was?  
  
No. You couldn't blame him.  
  
Couldn't blame Gamzee either.  
  
_It's my own fault._  
  
The ringtone for a video call sounded from your laptop again, Mituna's chatname and profile picture lighting up your screen. His picture was of one you and he had taken together sometime around freshman year. You were giving a small but genuine smile while Mituna had a finger shoved far up his nose, his face contorted into something horrific and hysterical at the same time. You lingered the cursor over the accept button as you took in the picture again. You missed Mituna more than you'd ever admit to anyone; including yourself.

A deep breath and a click of the mouse and Mituna's face appeared on your screen. Almost immediately you could tell he was worried even when the smile spread over his face.

"Hey there he is, the broski! How's it going?"  
  
You shift uncomfortably in your desk chair and shrug. "Its okay."  
  
"Yeah?"

You were digging your own grave. You swept your tongue over your lips which suddenly felt very dry. "Yeah."

"Cool, cool. Awesome bro. Glad whatever you're doing is so amazingly radical that you can't even hit up your best bud in the world like, more than once a month."

You force yourself not to flinch at the words. 

"You're mad."

"Whaaaat?? Nah, broski, no way. It's totally cool that you dropped me like a rotten egg on the pavement and opted to whatever shit is filling up your schedule." His tone is dripping with bitterment and sarcasm now. A cold sweat broke over your body. 

"It's not that. It's been- Busy. That's all."

"Yeah? Doin' what?"

You opened your mouth only to close it again. Mituna's face was close to the camera as his gaze scrutinized you. You vaguely felt nauseous. Then there was a flash of recognition in his eyes and the sinking feeling in your stomach dropped lower.

"Dude, bro, do you have a black eye??"

You'd thought you'd covered it up well enough with eye shadow and mascara and the like. You swallowed and opened and closed your mouth again. He was staring at you through his bangs, even pushing them a bit to the side so he could see your face more clearly; an action he hardly ever did. Cold sweat broke over your back.

"Dude!" He yelled to get your attention when you didn't answer and you snapped upright to your respective 'attention' posture you'd taken to adopting with Gamzee.

"No."

"What??"

"I don't have a black eye." You couldn't fully look at him now as his face fell. But the expression was only there for a moment before he looked angry.

"Dude, did your dad hit you?" He asked, his voice somewhat lowered to an acceptable 'I'm attempting at being discrete' volume.

You could have laughed. You wish your dad had hit you. It was always easier to take a punch from him than it was from Gamzee. Though it was a pretty decent competition now between the two on who could hit harder. Your gut was saying Gamzee.

"No." You answered and was glad it was the first truthful thing you said in the entire conversation. Mituna didn't look convinced but the anger faded from his shoulders a bit. 

"Then who did?"

You faltered, coming up blank. You couldn't lie and say you'd gotten into a fight- Mituna wouldn't have believed you anyway. The last fight you'd gotten into was in grade school and that was a scuffle by comparison of what you deal with on the regular now from your own brother.

"Kurloz, who punched you??" Mituna repeated the question and you still couldn't think of something to say. 

You opened your mouth to try to think of an answer.

Gamzee's voice answered for you.

"Loz, get the fuck in here for a round three!" 

You jumped right to your feet, half knocking your laptop off of the desk and caught it at the last moment. Mituna was saying something to you as you scrambled to use your trackpad.

" _Get on a fuckin' move and get to suckin' my cock!_ "

The last thing you saw before you slammed your fist on the trackpad and ended the call was the horror in your childhood best friends face. 

 


	5. Shift it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A transition.

You delete all of your social media accounts not even a full ten minutes after Gamzee's 'third round' had finished up. You still had the bitter taste of him in the back of your throat but even that you could ignore as you went to each individual website and went through your settings to delete them. It's not like you were all that active on anything anyhow; most times it was just Mituna or Latuna posting things on your feeds. But with the conversation you'd just had with Mituna and how abruptly it had ended there was no way the boy wouldn't take notice. Even he wasn't that stupor-riddled.

 

No. It was better to not even bother anymore. Besides, even if you did tell anyone - which simply was not an option - nobody would understand.

 

They'd say Gamzee was abusing you. And maybe he was, but, not in a way that you never considered a possibility. Gamzee was your baby brother, your wonderful and terrifying baby brother who you'd raised more than anybody else in the family had while you were still in elementary school. He'd taken his first steps to you. You made all of his doctors appointments. You were the punching bag to his ever violent tempers. But to everyone else you were just Kurloz. Someone who didn't talk. You might as well stay true to that expectation.

 

You'll come to regret the decision, you knew that already. But if it was for your baby brother you would endure a thousand years of regret. He was all that mattered anymore.


	6. The Big One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee's had enough of Kurloz's stalling.

Kurloz was lying on his stomach over his bed with a book splayed open on the pillow when you waltzed your way right into his room like you owned it and could practically smell the tension radiating off of his bony shoulders. He didn't look over his shoulder at you as though if he simply ignored your presence then he would be spared from whatever twisted game you'd cooked up this time. You motherfucking hated that he still tried to play off his involvement in the situation. You shut the door behind you with a bang that nearly startles him to his feet. He sits up and closes the book, setting it aside on the nearby dresser, eyes down.

 

He knows somethings off, you can tell. Kurloz is no idiot as much as you like to think of him as one. It simplifies things when you claim stupidity on your older brothers part. But you know better. Kurloz knows exactly what he's doing and when he does it and how. His god damned infallible and unwavering loyalty frustrated you to no end. You'd been pushing him more and more and he hadn't even raised his voice to you yet. It was fucking sickening.

 

  
You hated your older brother in more ways than you cared to count.

  
This was just another way.

  
You step closer and pull something from your pocket that has the blood draining from his face while a grin spread over yours; a bottle of lubrication. His owlish gaze shifted from you to the bottle and back again before he swallowed visibly and nodded. Not that you needed his permission. You both knew better. No one ever had to tell you anything.

 

  
You sit on the edge of the bed and he stands, undoing his button-down shirt with trembling fingers. You roll your eyes at that. Motherfucker was acting all pussy-like again. Like taking a dick ever killed a real brother. When he pulls the shirt off of his frame and starts at his pants you grab him by the front of his belt to jerk him close and roughly pull the fabric out of the way to swallow down his length. He gasps out and squirms his stupid bony little hips against your hold like he was trying to get away without the actual effort of doing so. You glare up at him and drag your teeth warningly along his length and he freezes in an instant. You pull back and laugh in his flushed face at that, shoving him toward the bed.

  
To your surprise he gets right into position. He props his back end up, the classic 'face down, ass up' posture, and hides his face in the sanctuary he made of his elbows against the blankets. You shrug and let him. Not like you really wanted to look at his face right now anyway. You reach a hand out to slap it across his ass cheeks and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, pressing his face further into the darkness of his arms and you snicker at him.

 

  
His thighs are trembling.

 

  
You climb onto the bed after him and undo your loose fitting cargo pants, letting them sag against your thighs and slick up your length. You can feel his uncertainty hanging in the air like a fog and you let him stew in it. If the motherfucker wanted something then he could be a big man and ask. He doesn't. Not until you press the head of your cock to his entrance and he tries to pull away. You smack his ass again, harder this time, and he fully yelps.

 

"Gam, wait-- Can't you.."

 

"Can't I be motherfucking what." You don't ask it like a question. He's trembling harder than ever.

  
"I-- I mean, maybe your fingers.." He trails off again, protest weak and halfhearted. You know exactly what he's asking you but you don't give a fuck. Even if he did fully voice his issue you would have ignored it. But it's the fact that he's asking in such a pathetic way that makes you certain of your decision. You grab him by the back of his head, slam it into the blankets and force your way into him with a single thrust.

 

He throws his head back and screams.

  
It's only for a moment that he does but you already know you'll remember the sound until the end of your days. It's something of surprise, suffering, pain, regret, and a plead. You ignore it and waste no time to start pounding away at his bony ass in earnest. He drops his head back into the blankets and you hear nothing from him for several minutes, nothing but his shallow breathing. It's only when you reach down and feel his half hard cock hanging free in the air that he makes another sound: a sob.

  
You feel disgust rising up inside yourself as you pull your hand away and spit onto his back. That seems to do the trick and now he's fully crying, sobbing as though he were on the brink of death into his arms. The shudders rock his frame and tighten his muscles around you, causing you to groan openly. Your fingers are digging bruises into his hips and you pull him back against you harder as you give yourself over to the pleasure. He never once raises his head or tries to pull away from you again even after you rain down blow after blow over his cheeks. Before long they're raised with welts and a flaming red even on his dark skin.

  
It's almost two hours before you finish coming deep inside him. You think it was two or three times. Kurloz only got the once, right at the very end. You had finished and pulled out of him and dragged him into view by his hair. His face was pale, his lip was trembling, and he was covered in his own tears. You glared back at him, both impassive and with an air of superiority and slapped him clean across the face. He shut his eyes and cried out, bringing his long legs up around him but it wasn't quick enough: you saw that he spilled over onto his own stomach.

  
"Fuckin' sickened bitch." You throw the insult at him and he says nothing, just hangs his head and continues the soft cries to himself. He wraps his arms around himself and you roll your eyes at his display.

  
"Quit the motherfuck on a bitching, Loz." His cries seem to pick up a bit when you say his name but you can't be bothered to try and figure out why. "Should be counted on a lucky that I even fuckin' used lube at all."

  
"Thank you." He croaks out even though you hadn't asked for the gratitude to be verbally stated. He's got his eyes shut, his face turned into the pillow. Tears are still falling from his eyelashes. "Thanks, Gam."

 

"S'Whatever." You pull your pants back up and tuck your bloodied cock away. Guess you hadn't used enough lube after all. You don't give a fuck. "I'mma grab your wallet and order some Chinese."

  
He doesn't argue with you on that and you shrug, reaching over to punch his shoulder the same playful way you always had.

  
"Love you, Loz." The words kind of fell out of you.

  
He's still crying when he lifts his head up to look at you.

  
There's silence around you, unnatural and tense.

  
When he goes to speak it sounds like his voice cracks and he swallows, tries again.

  
"Love you too, Gam."


	7. Everything is good.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is good.

Everything is good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gamzee's broken your nose a total of four times already. You've lost two teeth. One you swallowed. The other he threw down the pipe in the basement, the one without the cover that always smells of moss and dirt and filth. You didn't protest as you watched. You'd long taken to a passive stance. Becoming simply an observer, an ever present audience to your brothers cruelty. 

 

He stabbed you once. Maybe twice. You'd given yourself the stitches both times. You were lucky he didn't puncture a lung. He'd told you so as you laid on the floor, curling as much onto the wound as you could to protect it from further attack. You'd agreed with a nod and he was satisfied with that.

 

You can't remember the last word you'd spoken.

 

Or when you had done it.

 

Your father was strangely accepting of your silence. He'd commented on how you didn't have shit to say anyway and Gamzee laughed. They both drank the same beer now. You brought them fresh from the freezer in the basement. Your father took his in a glass and Gamzee chugged from the bottle. The smell was something close to cinnamon but it was faint. An afterthought. 

 

Gamzee's meeting people at the house. You know when to duck into your room and leave him because they all wear the same look. The indifference toward you and the respect for your brothers methods. They wanted action and he provided it. Your father was proud in some way you didn't understand. You didn't want to. Your father had to know something was going on even with as little time he spent at home. He'd walked in on you with Gamzee's fist in your lap under a pathetically draped blanket enough times to know. He never acknowledged you when Gamzee did this. You kind of just - stopped existing to him. Gamzee's grip would turn crushing and you would bite your tongue to the point of blood to not cry out. You couldn't, not when the only man you'd ever hated and feared stood not ten feet away. 

 

Gamzee seemed accepting of that. It was just a game to him anyway. Something to pass the time.

 

Most times you didn't know what you were anymore. 

 

  
To anyone.

 

 

Everything is good.

 

Except when it's not. 

 

Which is never. Because you're happy.

 

 


End file.
